


Encounters on the Slow Road

by Aeshna



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Pre-series speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeshna/pseuds/Aeshna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Some stories are best left untold.  You've lived enough of them to know why."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encounters on the Slow Road

**Author's Note:**

> Something of a historical document this, written in that period between _Torchwood_ being announced as a spin-off and being aired - I don't think the _Sarah Jane Adventures_ had been suggested at the time, although _School Reunion_ had aired and reintroduced her as a character. So complete speculation on a vast number of fronts, but I am rather impressed that I got so close on Jack's characterisation.... :)
> 
> Many thanks to Jwaneeta for encouragement, beta-reading and Yank-picking, and to Ladyvivien for ensuring that my Sarah Jane characterisation wasn't all over the place! Any remaining weirdnesses are all mine.

The travel alarm announced the morning in its shrill, insistent voice and Sarah Jane Smith worked a hand out from under the covers to slap it back into silence. Opening one eye to peer at the time, it took her a few moments to shake off sleep and register her surroundings – the blandly inoffensive décor of a motorway hotel, her wheeled case propped against the chair in the corner, her laptop sitting on the dressing table beside the battered television with its hopeful cardboard crown of pay-per-view advertising. There was the low, constant drone of traffic from somewhere beyond the curtained window, and for a moment she couldn't quite place where in the country she was, such was the identikit familiarity of rooms such as these....

From behind her came the sound of movement in the bathroom – running water, the flush of the toilet – and Sarah Jane couldn't quite help her pleased smile as she spotted the second pair of shoes beside the chair and remembered the events of the night before.

_Oh yes, my girl – you've still got it._

M4, just outside Cardiff. Blue eyes, dark hair, tight jeans, _killer_ smile. It wasn't the sort of thing that she had ever made a habit of, and he was easily young enough to be her son, but he had been charming and attentive and handsome... and he hadn't turned her offer aside.

The bathroom door creaked softly as it opened, the light spilling from it extinguished with a sharp _click_ a moment later. Quiet footsteps crossed the carpeted floor and the mattress dipped beneath the weight of a solid body. Sarah Jane's smile spread as a strong arm curled around her, pulling her back against a smoothly muscled chest, and warm lips brushed teasingly against her earlobe. "Good morning, gorgeous...."

Her answer vanished into a gasp as the lips strayed lower, the rough touch of stubble against her neck, her throat, sending a carnal thrill through her body. Encouraged by her response, he shifted position, kicking the covers away and letting her feel him harden against her thigh – long and thick and all for _her_ – as his mouth unerringly found the sensitive spots behind her ear, at the point of her jaw. His hand stroked upwards to cup a breast, squeezing and toying with increasing roughness as he licked and sucked at her throat, and Sarah Jane moaned and arched back against him, raising a hand to tangle her fingers in his hair and hold him in place. God, it had been a long time since she had been with a man, never mind a man who could make her feel like _this_ , like she was twenty, and if he reminded her of someone else in some odd way, it didn't matter, not really, not when –

Quick fingers pinched and twisted at a nipple, and Sarah Jane cried out, the shock of sensation arrowing straight to her groin. A throaty chuckle sounded by her ear as his other arm slid under her, his hand ghosting across the soft skin of her belly and slipping down to tug and tweak at the triangle of rough, silver-shot hair below. Teeth pulled at the fine silver chain around her throat, their touch sharp against her nape, and she caught at his fingers, trying to push them further down as she raised a leg and pressed back into him, inviting, eager, _needing_....

She almost screamed as he drew back, drew away, contact maintained only by the hand that slipped back beneath her, fingers leaving damp trails against her skin as they traced along her spine and across her hip. Frustrated, she rolled back to see him tearing into the condom wrapping with his teeth and forced down her agitation – for all that pregnancy was a biological impossibility for her now, she had no more desire to risk her health on a random liaison than he did. He flashed a wolfish smile as he saw her watching, slowly, deliberately stroking his uncut length and teasing at the weeping slit for a moment before quickly sheathing himself one-handed. Sarah Jane wondered just how many times he had practiced _that_ move as she eased onto her side, facing him in the morning half-light, and reached for his glistening fingers. She felt vaguely depraved as she lapped at the slick, salty residue, becoming all the more aroused at that thought and at the taste of him on her tongue, at the scents and sweat mingling on her skin. They had gone three full rounds the night before and she suspected that she had no inhibitions left to lose – the man was a bad influence of the highest calibre.

Sarah Jane decided that she had no complaints.

Slowly, he drew his hand back, making her follow, then slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her in for a wet, hungry kiss, his tongue snaking across hers, teasing, tasting. His left hand stroked slowly down her body, warm palm flat against her sweat-damp skin as it skimmed across shoulder, ribs, hip, buttock, strong fingers curling around to press deep inside her –

Mouth hard against hers, he shifted his grip and rolled, smothering her cry as his weight suddenly crushed her against the sheets. She squirmed beneath him, trying to work an uncomfortable crease away from her spine, and wrapped her legs around his hips, her grip tight and demanding. His expression was feral as he broke the kiss and ground against her, seeking entrance, his hand straying downwards once more to grope and grasp and guide....

Sarah Jane hissed through her teeth as he pressed into her, burying himself to the balls with two quick thrusts that stretched her wide. She wrapped an arm around him, grasping at his shoulder and breathing his scent as he raised himself onto his elbows, reaching down with her other hand to part the mingled forest of damp hair between them and rub at her own flesh, pressing and pushing and arching as he began to move within her. The pace he set was quick, fierce, his movements complimenting her own as he dropped his head to nip at her throat and mutter filthy, delicious promises in her ear. Sarah Jane threw her head back and lost herself in the musk and the movement, biting at her lip as the pressure built, meeting his thrusts with her own until he twisted his hips and drove deep and the world exploded into pure sensation. She screamed her climax, wrapping herself hard around him as her heart pounded against her ribs and her nails dragged across his skin, her body throbbing as it tried to pull him deeper, _deeper_ –

He came with a choked cry, his rhythm dissolving as he slammed into her and spent himself hard. Sarah Jane was panting as he pulled out and rolled onto his side, swearing softly under his breath as he fumbled after the now-filled condom. She smiled as he wrapped it in a tissue and deposited it with its fellows on the bedside unit, reaching out to run a fingertip along his arm as he dropped back beside her. "Good morning, yourself."

He grinned and leaned in to press a quick kiss against her lips. "What time do you need to leave?"

"Checkout is by eleven, I think, but I really do need to be underway before then." She stretched, feeling fresh aches and bruises that she couldn't regret for a moment. "What about you, Jack?"

"Oh, I'm easy."

She couldn't help herself. "I'd noticed."

"It's one of my best features." He chuckled, then said, "It's been fun."

"It has." Sarah Jane stroked a lock of dark hair back from his forehead, understanding that this was a one-off and finding that she didn't mind. Liaisons like this were brief, mayfly things, glorious in their span but not made to last beyond the moment. "Thank you, Jack."

"My pleasure."

"Good to hear it." Sarah Jane pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and heading for the bathroom. She paused by the door, looking back at the man sprawled naked and unashamed across the rumpled sheets, and returned his smile before turning on the light and stepping onto the cool tiles. He'd be gone by the time she emerged, she knew, leaving nothing behind but his scent and a small pile of used prophylactics. And the memory of how she'd managed to catch a handsome American at least twenty years her junior for a night of insanely energetic sex.

Sarah Jane shook her head and closed the door. She'd thought to spend the night sitting in her room with her laptop, going over the details of her latest investigation. The leads had been tricky to pin down, but she felt that she had enough to try a closer search on the ground, try the personal touch. She hadn't planned on bumping – almost literally – into a young man in the bar, hadn't planned on sharing dinner with him in the hotel restaurant, hadn't planned on the two bottles of wine or of laughing at his cheerful anecdotes about nothing in particular. _Certainly_ hadn't planned on being charmed by his smile or on placing her hand on his knee and suggesting that he might like to –

She shook her head and sighed. One more unlikely event to add to her collection... and since when had some wine-lubricated casual coupling in an anonymous room of an equally anonymous chain hotel been able to rank alongside the wonders she had seen in her life? She had travelled the stars, met aliens, foiled invasions, battled monsters....

She had seen so much and gone so far that even now, decades on, she wasn't quite certain how to return to Earth.

Sarah Jane turned towards the sink, catching her reflection in the wide mirror as she reached for the tap. The bathroom light was harsh and bright against her skin, casting unflattering shadows and highlighting each line, each sag, each silver strand in the thatch of hair beneath her belly that she had never thought to dye. The passion marks that trailed across her body looked out of place against the less ephemeral marks of age, a harsh reminder that she wasn't twenty, wasn't even forty. God – it wouldn't be long before she was eligible for her bus pass!

It had been years since Patrick had left her, like Vincent before him, unable to compete with her memories, and if all that was left to her was the chance to grow old disgracefully, then she might as well take it. It wouldn't be long, after all, before the likes of Jack Harkness would pass her by without a second glance, wouldn't be much longer before her journalism became a purely sedentary affair. Who knew, perhaps young Rose would have tired of her travels by then and perhaps she would be willing to help with the more active aspects... if she wasn't dead or stranded halfway across the galaxy, of course.

Reaching into the shower cubicle, Sarah Jane turned the water on full, breathing in the steam and trying not to think about how, given the Doctor's navigational skills, Aberdeen had likely been a lucky break.

She took her time in the shower, washing away as much of the evidence of the night as she could and revisiting the bruises and lovebites with her fingertips, sealing them into her memory even as she thought about the day ahead. There would be others, she told herself, _promised_ herself, others who might last more than a night. She had to move on, like the doe-eyed young man in the brown suit had moved on, like he _always_ moved on. How many of his companions had never heard her name, never known of her existence? How many, yet to cross his tangled timeline, would never know of Rose, or of Mickey, or of any of the others who had come before them? How many would never be able to settle back into the life they had been born to?

Sarah Jane stroked wet fingers across the flat silver-grey pendant that rested against her breastbone, the pendant that her young lover had been so fascinated by the night before, then closed her eyes and shut off the water. _Move on. Time to move on._

There was daylight coming through the window as Sarah Jane emerged from the bathroom, vigorously towelling her hair dry. Jack must have opened the curtains before he –

"There you are. I was beginning to think you'd drowned in there."

"Wha-?" She shoved her hair back with the towel and stared at him in disbelief. "What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?"

"Wiping files," Harkness replied matter-of-factly, his hands moving swiftly over the keyboard of her laptop. "I'm just about...." He tapped decisively at the return key, then looked down at the brown leather cuff on his left wrist, smiling at whatever he saw there. "There, done!"

Sarah Jane gaped at him. He'd dressed while she was in the shower, apparently unconcerned at the thought of carrying the scent of sweat and sex out of the room, and was seated on the edge of the unmade bed with her computer on the covers beside him, eviscerated notepads and papers strewn around it. She caught a glimpse of glowing blue – some sort of mobile phone? – as he closed a flap on his wristcuff and finally managed to shake off her shock and find her voice. "How... how _dare_ you touch that!"

He chuckled. "Last night, I arse-fucked you through the mattress, but it's only when I interfere with your tech that you feel violated? There may be hope for you guys yet...."

"Get out! Get out this _instant_!"

"Now, why would I want to do that?" The familiar jangling song of Windows shutdown sounded from the laptop as Harkness lowered its lid and pushed the machine to one side, looking up at her. "I'm not quite finished in here, I'm afraid."

There was something in his tone, in his gaze, that cut through her fury and brought her to full alert. This wasn't the cheerily charming flirt she'd invited to her room, wasn't the attentive, inventive lover who had kept her awake for half the night. There was something far too professional about him as he stood and began to stalk the few steps towards her, something _dangerous_ , and she was suddenly very aware of her nakedness, her vulnerability. She prided herself on being able to handle herself in a fight, but what might work against an opportunistic mugger would not slow down an assassin... and she was in no doubt as to which she was facing here.

Making her decision, Sarah Jane threw the towel at his head, using the momentary distraction to turn on her heel and grab for the door handle. Fleeing naked through the hotel corridors wouldn't have been her first choice of escape plan, but she wasn't willing to just –

The handle refused to turn, frozen beneath her fingers.

"Electronic lock. Easy enough to override if you know how. I've disabled the circuit on the fire alarm as well, just in case you were thinking of trying for that next."

She turned, her back hard against the door, feeling the screws that held the emergency information in place biting into her skin. Harkness stood watching her from the other end of the tiny hallway that led past the bathroom door, arms folded and her towel slung over one shoulder. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Just to talk," he said calmly, and stepped aside, back into the room. "Do you want to put some clothes on?"

Sarah Jane forced herself to relax, swallowing her fear as she pushed away from the door and crossed to where she had thrown her clothes across the chair the night before. She was aware of his eyes on her as she dressed but refused to acknowledge his gaze, too busy cursing herself for ever having thought his interest in her to be real. What sort of a fool was she to have her head turned by a pretty face and a silver tongue? How well had she been played that she would invite him into her room, her bed, her _body_? He must have been laughing at her the entire time....

_There's no fool like an old fool,_ she told herself bitterly.

Tugging her jumper on over her head, Sarah Jane took a few moments to run her fingers back through her damp, tangled hair, then turned to face him, jaw set and expression determined. She was damned if she was going to show any further weakness in front of him. "Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?"

"Straight to the point – I like that." He grinned at her from the end of the bed. "Jack Harkness, but I told you that last night."

"That's your real name?"

"Yep." The too-bright smile widened a fraction. "I like to make sure that the right thing gets yelled at the critical moment, you know?"

Sarah Jane swore and took a deep breath, fighting down the urge to slap him. "What do you want from me?"

"Other than what you so graciously offered last night?" He ran a hand over the sweat-stained sheets, then his expression hardened a fraction. "I want you to get back in your car, turn around and head back to London."

"Because there's nothing to see in Cardiff?" she asked, feeling a tiny thrill of victory – her instincts had been good. More than good if she was being threatened for getting even this far. "You really think that I'm going to believe that?"

Harkness shrugged. "No more than I would." He sat up, his gaze fixed on her face. "There's _plenty_ to see in Cardiff, Sarah Jane, if you know where to look, and not just on the tourist trail. But your kind of interest could get people killed. People I care about."

"I'm a journalist – it's my job to find the truth and to –"

"Don't be such a bloody idiot!" He pushed himself to his feet, taking a step towards her, and she was suddenly acutely aware of just how much physically larger than her he was. "Go back to London, Sarah Jane. Turn around and forget that you ever met me."

"And if I don't?"

"I'd rather not have to demonstrate. Trust me, it'd hurt you a lot more than it would hurt me."

"Is that a threat?"

He raised a dark eyebrow. "What do you think?"

Sarah Jane ignored his sarcasm. "What are the Americans doing in Wales?"

"The Americans?" Harkness looked at her in apparent confusion, then chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, of course – because every English accent you've ever heard has been attached to a Brit.... No Americans," he told her. "No foreign interests and nothing illegal."

"So you say," she shot at him, wondering what he would do if she were to grab one of the notepads from the bed – going for her voice recorder was no doubt out of the question. "All you're doing is convincing me that there's a major story here, and one that –"

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. "If you told even half the stories you knew, Sarah Jane, they'd put you in a jacket with the sleeves around the back!"

She stilled. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what it means," he said softly, his tone shadowed with something that might have been threat or might have been sorrow. "Some stories are best left untold. You've lived enough of them to know why."

Sarah Jane's breath caught in her chest. "You know nothing about me," she heard herself say, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. " _Nothing_."

"You'd be surprised." Harkness's gaze was assessing. "We have a file on you – quite comprehensive, I might add. I know who you are, what you do, your background, your publications record." He took another step towards her; she held her ground, refusing to take the answering step back, and was unprepared for his next words. "I know what that thing around your neck is."

Sarah Jane raised her hand to touch her pendant, its familiar abstract design warm and comforting beneath her fingers, and cursed herself for her reaction. "This? It's nothing," she lied. "Something cheap I found on holiday one year."

He snorted, obviously amused. "Must have been one _hell_ of a vacation," he told her, reaching into his jacket where it lay on the bed, then his expression cleared and he met her gaze squarely. "I know who you are, Sarah Jane, and I know what you were."

She stared at him, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears. He wasn't with UNIT, she was certain of it – this simply wasn't their style. "I don't believe you."

"You need proof?" He shrugged, producing a small bunch of keys from his coat and fiddling with them. "Here. It's not quite so fancy as yours, but...." He looked up and tossed her something small and silvery-gold. "Catch."

Sarah Jane snatched the key out of the air... and in an instant knew it for what it was, knew it by touch, knew it by the electric thrill of recognition that flashed against her breast, through her wrist, knew it in her very bones. It was such a simple thing to look at, sitting harmlessly in her palm as she opened her hand, a plain unmarked Yale that might serve to unlock any number of doors, that would never be noticed by any who didn't intimately _know_ the not-metal feel of its edges and contours....

A plain unmarked Yale that, like the pendant she wore around her throat, would open the only door that had ever really mattered in her life.

She closed her fist around it, hard, sudden fury welling up in her once more. "Where did you... _who_ did you take this from?"

Harkness frowned, cocking his head at her. "What makes you think I took it from anyone?"

"Didn't you?" she challenged.

"It's mine. It was given to me by the same man as gave you yours." He closed the distance between them, taking her hand and calmly and firmly opening her fingers to take the key back. "Believe it or not, I _earned_ this. Just as you did."

"He gave this to you?"

He shrugged again. "What can I say? I guess quality control has slipped since your day."

Sarah Jane swallowed hard as he released her hand, raising it to touch her own key – so different in shape and in style to his – once more. "Why did you leave him?" she asked quietly.

Harkness sighed, working the Yale back onto his keyring. "I didn't."

She nodded, hearing all too well what was unsaid, remembering all too well what it was to be left behind. She wondered who and what he had been before, if he was even a native of this century, wondered if he had known one of the incarnations she had met, or if he had been company to one of those that had predated her or passed her by. "So, we have a mutual friend," she said, forcing her mind back to the present. "What would he think to see you threatening me?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'd be quite horrified." Harkness tucked the keys into a pocket in his jeans and leaned back against the dressing table. "But he isn't here, is he? We are. You doing your job, me doing mine."

Sarah Jane dropped into the chair, frustrated. "Do you threaten every journalist that crosses your path?"

A soft laugh. "No need. You should be flattered, actually."

"That's not the word that I would have used...."

"Most are easy to turn aside," Harkness continued, ignoring her interruption. "The human brain's very good at fooling itself into accepting the safest explanation for any given situation. People don't like dealing with anything that doesn't fit into their neat little worldview, even after the Sycorax. Especially after the Sycorax. You though...." He inclined his head towards her. "You've seen wonders enough to see beyond the surface."

"And what lies 'beyond the surface'?" she asked, watching his face.

"Sharks." He quirked a small smile. "Truth is, our mutual friend isn't exactly reliable, is he? We can't expect him to just miraculously be there every time something weird goes down."

"He's done well enough so far," Sarah Jane snapped.

"Has he?" Harkness looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "The Earth has its own defenders, Sarah Jane, people who have far more invested in this time and place than the Doctor ever has. People who don't just cut and run after the event."

"That's not what he –"

"I've been there, remember!" He pushed himself upright, pacing the two steps to the bed and back again. "I know how it works. Roll in, roll out – that's the way it is with time-travel, the way it always is. Why take the slow road when you can go in style?"

"Not everyone is suited to the slow road," Sarah Jane told him.

"And don't I know it?" Harkness shook his head ruefully, then looked at her, his gaze far too keen. "And I'm not the only one, am I?" When she didn't reply, he continued. "The Earth has its own defenders, as the Sycorax discovered, but we can't operate in the public gaze. We're not just dealing with one specific threat at a time and not everything is cut and dried – or from the outside. Anything that jeopardises our security jeopardises our safety, and I won't risk the lives of my team for your moment of glory. Understood?"

Sarah Jane swallowed. Oh, she understood, all right – understood that he had managed to move on, to find somewhere else to _fit_ , something else to fight for. Someone else to offer his loyalty to. She wasn't sure if she envied or pitied him. "It doesn't sound as though not understanding is an option."

"It isn't." His expression was deadly serious. "I'm only telling you this much because of what you already know of the universe beyond the here and now. You're not coming into this cold. You know what's at stake."

"My neck?"

"Your world."

Sarah Jane ran her hands down over her face, then nodded slowly, reluctantly. She couldn't win this, not today. "All right," she said at last. "I'll go."

"Good." He grinned at her. "Oh, and if you're thinking of heading back to London and starting over from your back-up files, I wouldn't bother. That team I mentioned? They were dealing with those last night. Don't worry, I made them promise to reactivate the metal dog thing when they left."

She gaped at him. "Why you...." She stopped, shook her head – he was thorough, she had to give him that. "Just tell me one thing?"

He leaned back against the dresser once more. "Sure."

"Why didn't you tell me all this last night, when you first got me alone? Why wait until now?"

Harkness blinked at her. "You propositioned me," he said, as if that explained everything.

"And you wanted to buy time for your precious team?"

"No, they were done before you'd have been halfway up the M4." He shrugged. "I didn't tell you last night because... you're an attractive woman, Sarah Jane. I wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to shag you senseless. No man in his right mind would."

"Oh." Sarah Jane was embarrassed to feel her cheeks colouring. "I... thank you, I think."

"You're welcome." Harkness's smile was wide as he moved towards her again, standing over her, and Sarah Jane gripped the upholstered arms of the chair as a finger raised her chin and warm lips covered her own. The kiss started gently, then grew deeper, more passionate, and Sarah Jane was all but squirming in her seat by the time he broke it. "Seems like I'm still welcome too," he murmured against her mouth and she felt her blush deepen, not certain if she wanted to slap him or drag him back to the bed.

She belatedly realised that there was something resting on her lap, a piece of paper headed with the hotel name and with a string of digits scrawled across it. "What –?"

"My mobile number," Harkness told her, moving back to the bed to start gathering up the scattered scraps torn from her notepads. "Next time you're coming down this way, give me a call."

"I wouldn't have thought you were the sort to indulge in repeat business," she said, folding the paper and tucking it into the pocket of her jeans nonetheless.

"Think of it more as an insurance policy." Harkness's tone was suddenly serious once more. "I don't want you snooping around, Sarah Jane. There's too much at stake. If I know you're coming, then neither of us is likely to get a nasty surprise."

"And if I don't call ahead?"

"Then the next time I see you, I can absolutely guarantee that you _won't_ see me...." He left the implication hanging.

"Which would be a shame." Sarah Jane stood and made herself smile at him – she had the feel of this game now, the quicksilver shifts of mood and emotion, solidarity, threat and flirtation. No wonder she had found him so oddly reminiscent of someone else. "You're rather decorative in your way."

The Hollywood grin was back. "I do my best. And if you're in the market for a little 'repeat business', I'm sure I could be persuaded. Work permitting, of course."

"Of course," she agreed, and felt her smile grow a little more genuine. She might have lost her story – for the moment – but the reminder that the world was wider and stranger than most had ever dreamed was something far more valuable. As was the knowledge that she wasn't yet seen as harmless. Or undesirable. "Saving the universe really ought to take priority."

"Well, it's not a bad universe – I'm kind of fond of it, myself." Harkness looked around the room, then, apparently satisfied, shrugged into his denim jacket and stuffed his crumpled haul into his pockets, snatching up a flash drive almost as an afterthought. "Well, time for me to be off. I think I'm done here."

"Busy day ahead?" Sarah Jane asked casually.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Harkness flashed another grin and raised his left arm, fiddling for a moment with his wristcuff. Something chirped and a soft click sounded from the door as the lock released. "Things to see, people to do...." He patted his pocket, checking for his keys, then looked up to meet her eyes. "Remember what I told you."

"No straying down the M4 without permission?"

His smile was gentler this time, more honest. "We don't have to be enemies, Sarah Jane. But I _will_ look after my own."

"I know." She thought back to a time when the love and loyalty of a small and unlikely band of friends had been her sword and shield against the worst the galaxy could offer. "I know."

He nodded briefly and was gone, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving her alone in the room. Sarah Jane closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath. It wouldn't take her long to gather up what he had left her, pack it all back in her bag and her laptop case... and to drop the soggy tissues on the bedside table into the wastepaper bin out of deference to the maid – the sheets were bad enough. She was probably too late for the hotel breakfast, but there was a service station right outside that would no doubt be able to provide her with something overcooked and overpriced.

She sighed and reached into her pocket to finger the piece of paper there, feeling the faint indentations of the biro against the surface. She would call him, in time – she knew she would. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, and most likely not because she had a burning desire to visit Cardiff. But there were days when she just needed to speak to someone who might _understand_....

And besides, he really _was_ rather decorative.

Sarah Jane chuckled to herself and set to collecting her things.


End file.
